


people livin' in competition

by jugheadjones



Series: fp or mary comes out on top [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: FP/Mary friendship, Friendship, Love Triangles, Multi, Pining, Riverparents, Sad with a Happy Ending, Unrequited Love, fred fucks up (again), light and fluffy, parentdale, teenage hijinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 07:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14327445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/pseuds/jugheadjones
Summary: It’s not that he’s bitter, per-se, of Fred having relationships outside of him. He’s put up with Hermione with the patience of a saint since Fred first professed his undying love for her in the ninth grade. But Mary is different somehow. Fred doesn’t see it yet, but they fit. Balance. He can look at her and see the puzzle pieces of Fred’s life, the way they might slot together with Mary in them, building and building up into the place he always wanted to be. Something real, something possible. Mary is good for him. FP can’t be.





	people livin' in competition

**Author's Note:**

> title from boston - peace of mind 
> 
> fp/mary is the best dynamic ever

He finds Fred loitering outside Mary’s house, scuffing one of his beat-up tennis shoes in the dust by the curb. It’s a full-sun summer day, beautiful and hot, but Fred has the longest face he’s ever seen on him. FP stops his bike and sighs. **  
**

“What in the love of all that’s holy are you doing?”

Fred looks up at him, eyes sad, one of his soft pink lips set in a permanent pout. “I’m in trouble with her parents, so I can’t go up to the door.”

FP snorts. “What the hell did you do this time?”

Fred shrugs. “I kinda sang to her.”

“Fred.” Fred’s habit of serenading people outside their windows has done a lot more harm than good, but Fred’s still convinced it’s the height of romance. “You’re probably lucky they didn’t call bylaw. Let’s go to the Chok’lit shop or something.”

Fred’s eyes are starting to well up, and FP gets a beautiful urge to deck him right in the face. He already knows Fred would rather pout and pine on this street corner all day. It feels romantic to him somehow. “It’s fine, FP.” His lip trembles a bit. “Go on without me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Look, you go to the Chok’lit shop. I’ll flush her out and we’ll meet you there.”

Fred’s tears run dry in eight seconds flat. “Really?!”

“Yeah,” FP grumbles. “Really.”

Fred grabs him in a back-breaking hug and FP feels his lungs squeeze painfully together before his friend pushes him off and takes off running down the street. “Buy you an ice cream when you get there!” he promises in a shout over his shoulder.

Fat chance of that. If Fred’s allowance isn’t toast already, FP will eat his hat. Propping his rusted-out bicycle up on its kickstand, FP waits until Fred is around the corner before heading up to the door and delivering a cautious rap on the wood.

After a pregnant pause, the door swings open. Mary’s father - a round-faced, red-headed man with a full moustache - squints suspiciously out at him. He looks up and down the street behind FP before looking the teenager in the face.

“Is your other half with you?” he demands.

Fp tries to hide a smile. Much as he bemoaned having his name sullied by association, he had to admit  _your other half_  had a nice ring to it. “No, sir. I haven’t seen him all day. Is he in trouble?”

“You bet he’s in trouble.” Mr. Moore looks left and right again over FP’s shoulder. Satisfied that Fred isn’t lurking around the corner, he faces FP once more, his cheeks finally relaxing into a smile. Amazingly, Mary’s parents are some of the few in town that don’t hate him on sight. “What can I do for you, FP?”

“Is Mary home?” FP puts on his most harmless face, absently tugging at the sleeves of his jacket. “I was hoping she’d join me for a soda.”

“Just a sec. Mary!” Mr. Moore leans back inside the hall to call up the stairs to his daughter. “Your friend FP’s here.”

“What does he want?”

“A soda.”

Silence. After a minute or two Mary descends the staircase, dressed in a jaunty hat and a long skirt, a fringed purse slung over her shoulder. Her eyebrow lifts in surprise when she sees FP standing in her front hall, but FP offers her only a neutral shrug in reply. Mary responds by slipping her arm in the crook of FP’s, steering him cheerfully toward the porch and out the front steps. She pops her gum in his ear and turns to call over her shoulder.

“I’ll be back for dinner, daddy.”

“See you around, FP,” says Mr. Moore pleasantly, and FP straightens up importantly. For some reason that is still somewhat of a mystery to himself, he needs other people’s dads to like him.

“Yes, sir.”

Mary rolls her eyes as the door swings shut behind them. She leans in close so that her bubblegum breath tickles FP’s ear. “Fred sent you, didn’t he.”

“I’ll neither confirm nor deny,” replies FP, thinking with a painful twinge of how smitten Fred was with her, how lovely and nice-smelling she was on his arm and how utterly lost to him Fred was going to be once he learned to navigate the social taboo on midnight suburban serenades. “But if you don’t want to talk to him, you might as well head out now. I’m going to meet him at Pop’s.”

Mary remains. FP feels his heart clench.

It’s not that he’s bitter, per-se, of Fred having relationships outside of him. He’s put up with Hermione with the patience of a saint since Fred first professed his love for her in the ninth grade. But Mary is different somehow. Fred doesn’t see it yet, but they fit. Balance. He can look at her and see the puzzle pieces of Fred’s life, the way they might slot together with Mary in them, building and building up into the place he always wanted to be. Something real, something possible. Mary is good for him. FP can’t be.

And maybe he feels left out. Maybe there’s no room for him in this ideal tapestry they’re weaving, maybe he was never supposed to be part of this group at all. Fred had been the first person to ever invite FP into a place, made him feel as though he belonged, was permitted to belong. Now, just as silently, FP feels himself slipping back out.

The walk to Pop’s is painfully awkward. Mary tries valiantly to make small-talk before sensing FP’s in a jealous mood and letting it peter off. She slides her arm out of his to adjust her hat and doesn’t put it back again. FP drags his rusty bike through the dirt and looks down at his feet.

The bell over the door to Pop’s chimes when they walk in. Fred jumps out of the booth near the door. “Hey, Mary, I ordered us two ice cream sundaes. I’m really sorry about last night.”

To FP’s surprise, Mary breezes past him without even a glance, shrugging her purse off her shoulder. “Did you hear something, FP?”

FP blinks at her. Fred’s brow creases unhappily, his lower lip protruding into a confused pout. Mary waves at the other side of the booth. “Sit down.”

FP shifts awkwardly on his feet, glancing at Fred. “Fred might want to-”

“Sit.”

FP sits obediently, glancing quickly up at his baffled friend, and then away before he dares crack a smile. Mary picks up a laminated menu and opens it wide. “What do you want, FP? Milkshake?”

“Aw, come on, Mary,” Fred protests. “Quit it. It’s not funny.”

“My dad says I can’t talk to Fred anymore,” says Mary loudly, talking over him. “Or even look at him. So I guess I’ll have to talk to you, and you can tell him what I say.”

FP smiles despite himself, amused. He can feel Fred hovering impatiently next to his ear. “Okay. I can do that.”

“Let’s order first.” Mary snaps her fingers at Fred. “Oh, waiter.”

FP can almost hear Fred’s teeth gritting. “Yes?”

“One strawberry milkshake, please. Two straws.”

“No way!” protests Fred, his cheeks flushing pink. He stomps off in the direction of the counter. “You’re each getting your own.”

“You’re torturing him,” FP whispers worriedly, leaning in close so that the brim of Mary’s hat brushes his forehead. Mary laughs, tucking a red curl behind her ear.

“I have that right. You try it sometime.”

“I can’t,” says FP. Mary’s warm little hand finds his and squeezes, as if in encouragement. She leaves it there just long enough for it to tingle when she takes it away.

Fred returns with two milkshakes: Mary’s strawberry, and FP’s usual dark chocolate. “You know,” says Mary, “I just might forgive Fred all this if he buys us a round.”

“They’re on the house,” gripes Fred peevishly as he sets them down, and Mary flicks her napkin at him.

“Pop has some great wait staff, don’t you think, FP?”

“Um.” FP hides another grin, glancing up at his fuming friend as Fred waits impatiently for one of them to move over, realizes they don’t mean to, and grouchily takes a seat at the booth behind them. He strips the wrapping from his straw and takes a sip of his milkshake. “Yeah.”

Mary unwraps her own straw. “Okay, down to business. Will you tell Fred that I’ll go out with him Friday night, whatever my parents say?”

“Uh.” FP glances over his shoulder at the booth behind them. “I think he heard.”

Mary kicks him under the table. Wondering what on earth he’d become wrapped up in, FP turns awkwardly around in his chair. Fred is leaning forward, sitting on the edge of his seat. All the pouty insolence has evaporated from his face: he looks suddenly as newly hopeful as a schoolboy. The smile he’s trying to hide is glittering like sunlight on water in his eyes. FP tries to hide the lump in his throat at the sight of it.

“Mary, um… she says she’ll go out with you on Friday.”

The little smile finally graces Fred’s cheeks, goes all the way up to his brown eyes and stays there. “Tell her we’ll have to meet somewhere so her parents don’t see me picking her up.”

FP turns around again. “He wants to know where to meet you.”

“Tell him the Twilight, at seven sharp. And I pick the movie.”

“Seven sharp,” repeats Fred from behind them, and Mary glares over FP’s shoulder. FP turns quickly around.

“Mary says seven sharp. She picks the movie.”

“I heard her, you nutso.” The skin around Fred’s eyes has crinkled up, one of his front teeth sinking into the flesh of his front lip to hide a smile. “Tell her I’ll be there with bells on.”

“Tell him nothing that makes any noise,” says Mary, looking pointedly in the opposite direction.

“You two are crazy,” mutters FP. He goes to rise from the booth, but Mary’s hand lands tight on his wrist, pinning it down to the table.

“I haven’t forgiven him yet,” clarifies Mary. “But tell him maybe if he learns how to act like a regular human, we can make it work.”

“No more singing,” FP relates to Fred over his shoulder, and Fred gives him the finger. FP feels himself relax slightly, turning back around to Mary with more confidence than before. Mary shoots him a wink before yawning and stretching an arm exaggeratedly across the back of the booth.

“I sure would love a basket of fries, wouldn’t you, FP?”

Fred hand-delivers it to them with a stack of napkins. Mary smiles and slides over a bit in the booth as he sets it down, letting Fred climb into the seat she’s vacated.

“You guys love giving me grief, don’t you?” grouches Fred, waiting until they’ve both taken a fry before he pinches a long one off the top.

Mary faces FP. “Did you hear something, FP?”

FP looks down at his dirty cuticles, biting his lip a bit to keep from laughing aloud. “I think it was just the wind.”

Fred huffs at them, a smirk playing on his lips and shoves a third straw into the fluffy whipped cream of FP’s milkshake. He leans up across the table to help himself to a sip, his sandy hair bent toward FP’s face, and FP meets Mary’s eyes across his shoulder.

She smiles at him, and painfully, awkwardly, tremulously, FP lets himself smile back.

**Author's Note:**

> review to make fp feel loved


End file.
